


don't speak of family while burning homes

by Myrime



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, Hurt Tony, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Not A Fix-It, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tony Feels, Tony is done, making nice for the public, steve is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 09:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14077875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: “Won’t you forgive me?” Steve asks. He looks like he thinks there is a chance still that this is not their end, as if they had not dug their graves side by side.Tony breathes and says, simply, “No.”It feels like the very first time. Oh, he is used to saying no to bad business deals and annoying board members and pushy reporters. He has said no to team dinners and karaoke nights. But it is usually him asking for forgiveness, so he is not used to saying no to that. Now, however, with Rogers looking at him with that long-suffering patience, with his naivety, it is the easiest thing in the world.- Post Civil War, Tony decides to cut his losses. He is done with the Avengers and particularly Steve. Now, if only Steve would respect that choice.





	don't speak of family while burning homes

They shake hands for the whole world to see. Tony is used to the flashing of cameras, the soft storm of whispers in their backs, the barely hidden hostility which he meets so easily with his head held high. He is not, however, used to offering himself up as a pariah, to bare his neck and make nice with people who tried to kill him. He is not known for social niceties but for never backing down, for making his own way no matter who stands against him. Yet here he is, holding Rogers’ hand in his and baring his teeth in a close facsimile of a smile. Just because he thinks their world is worth saving after all and there are bigger things coming for them yet.

In a show of forgiveness that is both blinding in its magnitude and also horribly fake, they deliver carefully prepared speeches, make empty promises, speak of returning things to the good old ways. Well, something in Roger’s eyes tells Tony that the Captain might actually hope for it, the way his lips have a shy twist to it, the slight blush on his cheeks – it would be very amusing had Tony not problems to keep his wits together.

He feels naked without his armour and only the fact that he could summon it at a moment’s notice with barely a flick of his hand makes it possible that he can stand here at all and let Rogers touch him. With his heart hammering wildly and his abused lungs barely able to draw a full breath, he feels grey creeping into his vision. Rogers is wearing a black suit, but to Tony he is still in red and blue and white, looming over him. He does not need to see the shield to feel it bury itself inside his chest.

As soon as their public display of pretending to be a union once again is over, Tony ducks away from the scene. It takes more effort to keep up appearances than it should, but ever since returning from Siberia he has felt more fragile than he would ever admit. Panic attacks, FRIDAY calls it, port traumatic stress disease. Well, Tony has known he is damaged for a very long time now. He has just never needed a name for it.

“Tony,” Rogers calls after him, sounding as stern and eager as Tony remembers him. Not quite as confident as he did in front of the cameras, not as aggressive as during their arguments.

Tony does not turn around but walks faster, hoping to get away before his heart crumbles under the frantic pace it has set. But no such luck.

“Tony.” Rogers has caught up to him and only the experience of years of battle allow Tony to dodge Rogers’ hand reaching for him.

Blinking quickly several times to try and get rid of the dizziness, Tony takes a deep breath before turning around. The backstage hallway is too narrow to leave enough space between them for him to be even remotely comfortable with but he tries. As much as he wishes to put a wall in his back to make sure no one else can sneak up on him, he knows he has already lost if Rogers decides to push him up against it. It was always clear that Tony is no match for him without the suit.

“What do you want, Rogers?” His tone is clipped but not as dismissive as he has aimed for. The words are hard to get out through the sudden stricture of his throat.

Rogers is obviously taken aback by this reception, and Tony scolds himself inwardly for almost flinching away from the other man’s frown. It is the fists he has to keep an eye on, not the constant disapproval. Over all their years together he could never completely shake that.

“I thought we might use the chance to talk,” Rogers says, sounding slightly uncertain. It almost seems like he is trying to make himself smaller. “We have not seen much of each other since we came back.”

Were he not short of breath and barely keeping himself upright – the effect the mere sight of Rogers has on him these days – Tony would have laughed. He has made sure to never be caught alone with any of his former team. Apart from negotiations and panel meetings, he has hidden himself away in his workshop or with Rhodey even before it was sure that the ex-Avengers would return.

Months ago, Pepper had taken one look at him and told him to stop. “ _What are you doing, trying to get them pardoned?_ ” she had asked, too gentle because they were still not sure whether he would break, “ _You don’t owe them anything._ ”

“ _Maybe not,_ ” Tony had answered, just as tired than as he still is now, “ _But we owe the world to protect it like we have promised._ ”

“No can do,” he says now, trying for nonchalant and falling horribly short. “No time for any more platitudes.”

Rogers flinches and makes to take a step forward but something in Tony’s face must stop him, because he looks miserable for a moment before leaning back.

“I know things ended – badly between us, but we’ve been given a second chance here,” he says, hesitating over the words but meaning every one of them. “We should use it.”

 _Given_ , Tony thinks, as if he has not bidden his time comfortably in exile while Tony once again took the blame for everything and did the impossible to fix their mess – the public part of their mess, at least, because he has no interest in stirring up their personal issues. They have finally taken one too many hits.

“Oh, I’m using my second chance,” Tony drawls, waving dismissively to show that Rogers’ words mean nothing. In truth, he is on his third chance at least, after Afghanistan and the wormhole, and he may finally be ready to actually make the best of it. “The stage is all yours.”

“What do you mean?” Rogers sounds almost honest in his confusion. It does not suit him, not now that Tony knows how easy lying comes to him.

“I got you back,” Tony explains curtly, wondering whether he could get away with bringing another step between them. Their closeness is getting to him. “I sent you all the data we gathered about what we think is coming for us. The Avengers are yours to counter that.”

Their speculations have given him all the more reasons for nightmares. Tony can never forget what he saw beyond the wormhole, cannot escape Wanda’s nightmarish vision. They are not ready for any of that, not even remotely. So they need Captain America, need him where he can stand up and rally people behind him.

“You’re an Avenger,” Rogers says, and that is when Tony knows that Rogers has understood nothing, that he truly believes that they can climb back to their feet, brush off the dust and return to how things were. He barely keeps from rolling his eyes.

“You read my file, so I’m not sure whether I ever was,” Tony offers lightly, as if Natasha’s report had not stung for the longest time, “but I’ve signed my resignation weeks ago so I’m certainly not an Avenger now.”

Rogers’ eyes narrow. “You –”

“I’ve got to go now,” Tony interrupts him smoothly. “Things to do, a company to run, you know how it is.”

Happy should be waiting for him by now, and all he wants to do is fall into bed and sleep for a week straight. He never used to be this exhausted; one might think he should have become used to failure and betrayal years ago.

“If this is about Siberia –”

Fury rushes through Tony and that is finally enough to push the weakness out of his bones. Without conscious thought, he pushes into Rogers’ personal space, not minding the difference in height for once and trembling with the need to beat some sense into the Captain.

“Of course this is about Siberia,” he hisses, wondering how that can fall so easily from both their lips when it represents so much pain. “And about all the rest of it too. This is about _us_ ,” the words sounds as ugly a thing as it is, “and about how we’re done.”

Feeling the phantom weight of bruises and a broken suit caging him in, Tony whirls around and, barely able to walk straight, sets his eyes on the exit. He needs to leave, needs to calm down his breathing, needs to reassure himself that he is safe; no snow is falling here, no shield is coming down and again to break him.

“I’m sorry,” Rogers says quietly in his back. He does not come after Tony, does not move at all, and Tony is glad for that at least.

“I don’t care,” he lies and, without another glance, he leaves.

* * *

“We could just stay here,” Steve says, fingers trailing gently over Tony’s side as if spelling out a secret message. They are up in the penthouse, the curtains wide open so that both the stars and the blinding lights of New York can touch them. Steve, Tony has learned that quickly, is something of a romantic.

“Never thought I’d hear you say anything of the like,” Tony chuckles, leaning into his lover’s warmth. “Captain America leaving the world to its fate?”

“I’m not always Captain America.” Steve frowns like he does not know whether his words are true but wants them to be. “In here I’m not.”

“I would hope so.” Tony leans forward to kiss Steve. He takes his time because there never seems to be enough of it for them. They are savouring every touch, every word, hoping it will not be their last. “Because I happen to like Steve Rogers.”

“And not the Captain?” Steve chuckles, warm breath ghosting over Tony’s chin. “I’m hurt.”

“Well, you _can_ be pretty bossy in bed, and I can’t say I’m too put off by that.”

A wicked grin springs to Steve’s lips as his fingers wander further down Tony’s body. “Not put off at all, I imagine.”

“Keep going and you won’t have to imagine anything.”

Tony startles awake with a gasp and his whole body is in a blinding, short-breathed pain. He still feels Steve’s hands on him, leaving burning trails on his skin and himself shamefully aroused even as he hates himself for it.

The memories are tainted too with Siberia. Even when fighting each other they had been terribly in synch, their bodies instinctively knowing each turn and wince of the other, almost unwilling to shy away from punches because that was not the touch they were used to. Even now it is hard to imagine the same man that had not so long ago made him feel so very complete to be able to tear him apart so easily.

Feeling nearly drunk from exhaustion, Tony climbs out of his bed. Two and a half hours of fitful sleep, but he knows he will not get a minute more if he stays. It is only ever nightmares waiting for him in the dark – and memories like this, but these are even worse. So he goes into the kitchen where the coffee machine already works, thanks to FRIDAY’s thoughtful intervention.

He goes to work, the only thing left to him. True enough, it has made him happy for longer years than he has tried his hand at domesticity. And he has stayed awake for far longer spans than this. He just wishes it would be for better reasons. He wishes Steve’s ghost would not wait for him wherever he turns.

* * *

When Rogers comes to him next, it feels like an ambush. FRIDAY does not announce him, which is all Tony’s fault because he has been sloppy with updating her parameters because they were so busy upgrading his personal security. As it is, Rogers must have used his overwrite code to come into Stark Tower and up into Tony’s workshop. If Tony’s whole system were not constantly on high alert these days, expecting threats at every corner, he might not even have noticed Rogers as he enters – back straight, head held high, not a care in the world.

“Tony,” he greets, ignoring or not noticing the way the genius freezes in place, “I tried to call but you wouldn’t answer.”

The only good thing about Tony’s episodes of sudden shock, rendering him motionless and ready to break apart at the tiniest thing, is that it keeps his mouth from saying the first thing that comes to his mind.

 _I blocked your number_ , and, _I don’t want to talk to you, preferably never again_ , might not be a good start to their somewhat inevitable confrontation. Tony is not naive enough to believe that he could have shaken Rogers forever after their press conference. He tried to breathe, slowly, consciously. The shield is under lock and Rogers out of uniform. That does not mean he is not a threat, of course, but he does not look like he has come to fight. Although that is usually what they end up doing anyway.

“Are you all right, Tony?” Steve asks when Tony does not answer – jaws still clenched and eyes trained on the too short distance between them.

“What are you doing here?” Tony is impressed by how nonchalant he sounds. Inside, every fibre of his being is screaming at him to get out while he still can.

“You left so quickly after we last talked,” Rogers says like they had not been arguing, like Tony had not told him to leave him alone, “but we’re rebuilding now, so we should come together to plan.”

The audacity of this man, Tony thinks. “I’m busy.” He shakes his head stiffly. This panic-induced freezing thing his body does now does not help with matters at all. If things do get physical again, he will have no chance with how much this slows him down, not to speak of the sluggishness of his brain, sorting through all his racing thoughts until it all burns down into the same thing: fear.

“Look, I now you’ve got a lot on your plate,” Rogers sounds reasonable enough, and probably thinks his voice is soothing. He still sounds too much like he did in Siberia. “But now that we’re back, we need to get the team up and running again.”

Strangely enough, that has Tony relaxing a bit. He leans back against his desk, glad for the support but not needing it so direly anymore. People always want something from him, he can work with that. He only needs Steve to spit it out before they dissolve into arguing and tell him no.

“I’m sure you’re more than up for the job,” Tony says, almost pleasantly, but his try at a smile ends up more like snarling, baring his teeth to show he is not completely defeated yet. “You’re team leader after all.”

“But you’re –” Steve already sounds impatient, so Tony cuts him off.

“I told you I resigned. I was serious.” Why do people never believe he commits to things once he has come to a decision? He had been serious about the Avengers. Now that this has failed, there is no way he would _not_ leave.

“But you’re still with us, yes?”

Tony snorts humourlessly. “I’m afraid you don’t quite understand the meaning of a resignation.”

Steve stiffens at that, but does not back down. Stubbornness has always been his trademark. “We need tech support.”

“Well, the UN panel will surely keep you equipped.” Tony smirks when Rogers grimaces at his mentioning the panel. “And while I’m flattered, there are other people able to provide suitable tech.”

“We trust you.”

Unable to help himself, Tony laughs. The sound bursts from his lips in one glorious bout, verging on hysteria. There is nothing even remotely funny about their situation, but to think of what they tried to be and what they ended up becoming – it does not leave much to do but laugh or cry or scream.

“First off,” Tony says, catching his breath, “I very much doubt that. And second, I cannot say the same.” He watches in satisfaction as Rogers flinches from his words. They are no surprise, but the Captain had always been slightly delusional.

“You’re the best,” Steve says, not quite pleading. “You know what we need.”

And there they are again. It is always about what _they_ need, never him. No one gives a damn about Tony beyond what he can give them. “So someone else will learn.” He gestures dismissively, earning himself a stern glare. Strange how that has lost its effect, not that Steve has looked at him with actual murder in his eyes.

“Tony,” Steve calls out full of reproach.

“What do you really want, Steve?”

Rogers avoids meeting Tony’s eyes and does not answer immediately, which is enough to tell Tony that this is personal. It does not take much to connect the dots, although the realization has him wanting to back away until the edge of his desk presses hard against his hips.

“You want me to build a new arm for Barnes,” Tony says, voice nothing more than a whisper, “even though he used the last one to pry the arc reactor out of my chest.” The mere memory has fire flooding through his system. On the bright side, the anger is enough to return feeling to his fingertips. How dare Steve come here and ask that of all things?

“He didn’t manage to,” Rogers shoots back, immediately defensive. If only he could have showed one ounce of that loyalty towards Tony, they might not have ended like this.

“Because,” Tony grounds out, growing louder, “I shot it off him before he could.”

“And it isn’t in your chest anymore.” Rogers straightens where he stands. Too close for comfort, but not quite in arm’s reach. “It wouldn’t have – He just wanted to stop you.”

“Because _I’m_ the one who needed stopping,” Tony snaps, whole body taut and ready to duck and run, maybe to fight. Things did not end properly last time.

Then Steve shouts and it takes all the fight out of Tony. “You were out of your mind.”

In truth, he still is. It feels like all he ever does now is move from one nightmare to the next. They were not supposed to end like this. Sometimes it seemed like they would not end at all, although Tony should know better by now. Everything good ends, sooner rather than later, never his to keep.

“What do you want from me?” Tony asks, so very tired he has barely enough energy to keep the tremble from his voice.

“We need to move on from this,” says Steve, who does not have a new set of scars, who has gotten away unscathed with breaking the law and doing only what he thinks is right. “We were a good team.”

“Not good enough,” Tony mutters, “or we wouldn’t have broken this easily.” That is what hurts the most, he thinks. They were not only a team. They had made promises to each other, had been building a future – and it was all worth nothing, not to Steve, who threw it away at the very first opportunity.

“We can talk this through.”

Tony throws up his arms in frustration, wondering whether Steve actually believes that. “You had two years to talk to me and you didn’t. Two years after finding out the truth about my parents.” He smiles but it is a fragile, bitter thing. Just like they are. “You slept in my bed, you accompanied me to my mother’s grave, you told me you _loved_ me, but you never thought to be honest with me?”

“This wasn’t about honesty.” Steve looks almost helpless then, almost like the man lost in a future he did not see grow, the man who wormed his way into Tony’s heart and made his place there, pretending he wanted to stay.

“No.” Tony knows better now than to believe that man is still there. “This is about you only ever holding your own council and having your own agenda. This is you getting what you want at any cost.”

Fire sparks in blue eyes and the illusion of harmony is shattered. “I wasn’t the one building a homicidal robot,” Steve exclaims, all of the old blame in his voice. So much for leaving the past behind.

“Oh, we’re getting back to that?” Tony says like it does not hurt still. He has become almost used to only ever being measured by his failures. “Wanda showed me all of you dead, she showed me the Chitauri army coming for us. Bruce and I –”

“What you did was wrong,” Steve cuts him off, not a trace of compromise in his tone. But Tony has only ever wanted him to understand.

“I was trying to protect _you.”_ Silence falls between them. It feels like a breaking point, not as much maybe as getting a shield rammed into his chest, but profound enough to know that they cannot go back from here. Steve breaks it without care.

 _“_ So was I.”

Having his own words thrown back at him like this, flippant, emotionless, knocks all the breath from Tony’s lungs. This is it, he thinks, they have truly gone too far to come back.

“No,” he says, and he does not feel anything. “You were trying to protect Barnes. Against the whole world if need be, but especially against me, because despite all your promises you never trusted me.”

It is interesting to watch the emotions flicker over Rogers’ face: misery, anger, sadness, something he cannot read. But it does not matter, he does not believe a single one of them.

“I trusted you,” Steve says, stepping forward. “I lov-”

“Don’t. Spare me the lies.” Tony chuckles, the sound like breaking mirrors. “I get it, Barnes is innocent, I was wrong. We need to _yadda yadda_.” He shrugs, ignoring the heaviness in his chest, which he cannot blame on old wounds for once. Although Steve arguably is one of those wounds now. “I’m done, Steve. You’ll get an arm for Barnes.”

Steve looks up at that, a tentative smile tugging at his mouth that is so hopeful that Tony can barely look at it. That is naturally the only thing the Captain takes out of his little speech. A new shiny toy for his pet soldier – who cares about unimportant things like Tony’s heart when he can have that?

“On one condition,” Tony says, anticipating Steve’s frown before it manifests completely. “You will leave me alone after that.”

“Alone?” Steve asks like he still does not understand. Like he is still not ready to let Tony go. But Tony is.

“Yes. I mean it, we’re done. No more blazing in here with righteous fury. No more ‘talking things through.’ No more Avengers or tech support or arguing about strategy.” As far as clean cuts go, Tony has never wanted one more. “I’ll leave you to save the world and you’ll leave me to live my life.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Tony smiles. That right there, this unwillingness to give up, he had liked that once in Steve, had liked the idea of someone, maybe, not giving up on _him_ when the time comes. Turns out he was a fool in that too.

“But I do,” he says, shrugging. “The world appears to need you but I don’t. In fact, you’ve been rather detrimental to my health lately. So, I’m done.”

Rogers takes another step forward, but he looks so out of place in Tony’s workshop, so unchanged when, in fact, everything is different, that Tony does not even feel threatened very much at the moment. Although that might be due to the exhaustion. He is barely keeping upright as it is. They used to be better at arguing, less destructive. But that might be because, at the end of the day, they always came home to each other.

“Won’t you forgive me?” Steve asks, maybe thinking along the same lines. He looks like he thinks there is a chance still that this is not their end, as if they had not dug their graves side by side.

Tony breathes and says, simply, “No.”

It feels like the very first time. Oh, he is used to saying no to bad business deals and annoying board members and pushy reporters. He has said no to team dinners and karaoke nights. But it is usually him asking for forgiveness, so he is not used to saying no to that. Now, however, with Rogers looking at him with that long-suffering patience, with his naivety, it is the easiest thing in the world.

“You can’t just give up,” Steve sputters. “This is – We are – What about _us_?”

“There _is_ no _us_ ,” Tony feels like crying; truths have never been softened by saying them out loud. “And I wish there never had been.” Because he cannot recognize _his_ Steve – with the gentle hands, who could make him laugh, who held him through nightmares – in this one – who, incidentally, has _become_ the nightmare.

All of a sudden, Steve is in Tony’s personal space. Heat presses against his skin, and he cannot tell whether it is Steve’s warmth or coming from within him, due to the immediate panic flooding his system. His lungs scream for air but then Steve’s lips are on his own in a cruel mockery of what they used to share. The whole thing feels alien, but it also has a small part of him reeling in sudden longing.

It cannot have been more than a few seconds until Tony manages to slow down his frantic system long enough to bite down on Steve’s lips and push him away. Then he brings as much space between them as the workshop allows.

“What the hell?” he gasps in between deep breaths. It feels too much like drowning.

Crimson spots Steve’s mouth, which he wipes away with a hurt expression, confusion clouding the movement. “Tony?” he asks in a tone that has Tony wanting to hit him endlessly.

Tony has a hundred things to say, wants Steve to understand why he cannot come here and pretend nothing has happened. They are in pieces; _Tony_ is in pieces. Enough, for once, that he is not sure whether he can put himself together once again. And Steve just stands there, thinking they can repair this. Tony wants to yell at him, wants to reach out and crush that naivety. But most of all, he wants all of this to be over.

“Get out,” he says tonelessly, barely able to look at his one-time friend. To think that he once felt safe in Steve’s company. _Loved_ even.

“But we haven’t –”

“And we won’t,” Tony cuts him off but takes no satisfaction from it. He is only tired. “No matter what you’re thinking, we will not do anything anymore. We’re done.”

For a long moment, Steve does not say anything. He also does not move, which is enough to keep Tony’s heartbeat elevated. There is still snow swirling at the edge of his vision. He wonders whether he will ever get rid of it.

“I’m sorry,” Steve finally says and sounds like he means it. Tony does not care. He has finally been betrayed one time too many.

“Then leave.” All Tony wants to do is to close his eyes and imagine himself somewhere safe, somewhere happier, but he cannot allow himself to look away from Steve, cannot give him the chance to catch him off-guard again.

Finally, no matter how hesitant, Steve nods and turns around. In the doorway he stops again. “Call if you need me. I’ll be there.”

Tony can barely hold himself together until Steve is gone and FRIDAY announces he is in the elevator and on his way down. His legs give way more than he lets himself sink to the ground. Head buried in his hands, Tony concentrates on breathing, only that he still cannot get enough air inside his lungs.

 _I’ll be there_ , the Captain’s voice echoes, although Tony presses his fingers inside his ears, trying to erase the words. It is as impossible as forgetting the very sensation of Steve: long gone hands caressing his skin, fists beating relentlessly, whispered promises, lies, trailing kisses, the shield coming down again and again. He seems to be stitched into every inch of Tony’s being, having wormed his way in with that uncompromising reliability of his, immortalized now in a new set of scars. Where Steve once was the one thing to keep Tony’s nightmares at bay, he is now the origin of countless new ones.

His whole body trembling, a sound escapes Tony’s throat that could be a sob or hysterical laughter. He only knows that it hurts, that he has not cried in years, that no amount of fake smiles and confidence will make this go away.

“Shall I call for medical assistance?” FRIDAY pipes up, sounding as concerned as she ever does these days. It only prompts Tony to laugh harder.

“Initiate lockdown,” he croaks, not recognizing his own voice, laden with so much of an emotion he does not want to analyse. “Revoke access to – don’t let _anyone_ in.”

“Lockdown of workshop initiated,” FRIDAY echoes back at him, speaking with a reluctance not appropriate for a task as straightforward as this.

“No,” Tony shakes his head, then stops the movement with his hands as if afraid that he can never calm otherwise. “No one gets into any of the former Avengers’ floors.”

Even saying the name hurts. He though they had something good here, something worth fighting for. If possible, he sinks further into himself, making himself small enough that he can pretend no one can see him, if only he never steps out of this place.

“What about Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes?” Again the worry. As if Tony has ever truly needed anyone to survive a crisis. And when he thinks of them, his friends – Pepper with her strictness, her fear; Rhodey with his rightful anger, legs lying limply – he cannot imagine being around them.

They would need to be placated. He would have to act like everything is going to be all right, and for once he cannot muster the energy for it, cannot be who they want him to be. Especially since he does not know who he is anymore, how he can be anyone other than the beaten man in a battered metal suit, abandoned in a Siberian bunker.

“No one,” he repeats through clenched teeth, wishing he could feel safe again even for one night. Before FRIDAY can say anything else, he orders, “And turn up some music. Make it loud.”

He needs to drown out his thoughts, needs to stop them from circling in his mind like a maelstrom dragging him down and down. It helps, having bass pound in his ears until he cannot feel his heartbeat anymore, until his breathing does not tear at his lungs. It takes an eternity until he manages to unfold from his posture on the floor, until he feels safe to bare his scarred chest to the air again. He is not ashamed of it as he might have once been. He is too far gone for that, has lived through enough. Instead, he straightens slowly, returns to his desk to bury himself in work, the only thing still able to keep him calm. Although that, too, has been so very intertwined with the Avengers. Even now his mind comes up with ideas for weapon and armour upgrades he has no use for because he would only arm them against himself.

With a flick of his hand, holographic screens pop up all around him and he feels himself calming further. The sight of the schematics draws him in, the blue light as calming as the arc reactor in his chest had been; proof of the horrors he had survived.

He will survive this too, Tony knows, as his fingers get to work. No matter what happened, he is still a futurist. He cannot leave the shape of the future in other hands than his. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think.
> 
> I'm not quite satisfied with this, as it feels rather rushed. Also I wrote it last night so please let me know about any mistakes you find.  
> All the best to you!


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